As a child of the American suburbs, I did not have much exposure to those whom we might deem "impoverished." To me, Christianity took the form of a moral code which one was to follow in order to reach heaven. As I grew up and moved to Waco, Texas, for college I began to experience what I considered a strange thing—poor people, homeless people, drug addicts, and more. Not only were they a common sight, but they asked me for money! Shocked at what I felt was an unwelcome presence in my comfort zone, I quickly dismissed these vagrants and continued about my way. These people, I thought, had no place in our community.

I cannot point to a specific moment in which I found myself utterly and completely convicted by my un-Christ like behavior and thoughts, but there is one weekend that stands out. After much maturation and growth in my walk with Christ, I took a class entitled "Poverty in Waco," hoping to find an outlet in which to learn more about the compassion of Christ. As a requirement for the class, I had to spend a weekend in a "poverty simulation." This weekend turned out to truly open my eyes. I became a homeless 21 year old, having little food, no money, and ragged, unwashed clothing from a thrift store.

That weekend I noticed that people looked at me differently. I was unkempt from sleeping outside and I wandered aimlessly around town. I didn't feel any less of a person, or with any less dignity, but I did not feel welcome anywhere. As I took a nap on the lawn of a local church that Saturday afternoon I felt sense of despair as the cars drove past me. Where could I go for food? Why did I feel so dejected? I could write for pages about the feelings I had and the things that I learned that weekend, but by far the most important thing I learned was that Christ cared. He still cares.

And because Christ cares, I must care. If I am to call myself a Christ-follower (and I do) then His compassion for the poor must become my compassion for the poor. I am reminded of the beautiful passage in Matthew 25:31, where Jesus tells the "righteous," that "what you did unto the least of these brothers of Mine, you did it to me."

And while I confess that I still often struggle with caring for the poor and acknowledging their worth as humans, I know that they are not to be despised or dismissed. They are worth as much as anyone else in the eyes of the Lord, and they are my brothers and sisters. This has influenced me a great deal in my spiritual life and in the way in which I want to live my life.